From Afar
by Melody of Words
Summary: Close is a terrible, terrible, horrible, horrible thing. Melissa centric


**Author's Note: In case you didn't pay attention, this is MelxJackson. Slightly drabble-ish. I'm so sorry for not finishing Twisted Side! My muse left for another fandom, so I chased her for a bit. And now we're back, but she gave me this instead. :P Forcing myself to finish chapter 10- R&R this anyway? :)**

**Disclaimer: In reality, I'm a sappy person. Mel and Jackson would have far less relationship issues if I owned! ;)**

* * *

She likes to watch him. She likes to stare at him from an obscure vantage point. She likes to observe the way he moves, the way he talks. She's waiting for a smile, for a word, for a glance.

She likes to watch him, but only from afar.

* * *

It's terrible. Terrible, terrible, horrible, horrible, the worst thing that could ever happen to her. All they do is laugh and stare and gawk and giggle madly, and there's no apology- not one! And she's blushing and flushing, averting her eyes here, flinching from a touch there-

It's because she's closer. Closer than she wants to be. Closer, because now she can feel concern in those blue eyes, and she wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Shouldn't she want him to look at her more? To stare at her, to wonder at her, to ponder her like she does to him?

But she's closer and closer, and it's not a good kind of close, and it's all because of a stupid blonde boy and a stupid beautiful girl.

She wishes she could hide behind a rock.

Or on a hill. A wide open space where it's just the earth and her, and the sky above them. A cliff, maybe. A crevice under a cliff? Maybe she'll fall instead.

But now she's farther and farther away- farther than ever before. Farther than she'd like to be. So far, she can't even see him, or watch him, or stare at him, or observe him-

She's afraid.

She'd like to watch him again, but only from afar. Close is a mistake. Close is a terrible, terrible, horrible, horrible mistake.

* * *

Stupid beautiful girl. Stupid blonde boy. What were they thinking? How dare they come into her refuge? How dare they pretend to save her?

How dare that idiotic, stupid blonde beauty fall into her trap? How dare she? How dare she try to make peace?

* * *

What was he thinking when he pulled them both out? What was in his eyes? Did he care? Did he wonder? When his strong arms pulled that rope, pulled them out back into the open, when his arms pulled her up, closer to him- too close!- what was he thinking? Was the expression on his face one of relief or of annoyance? Did he still think she was worth talking to?

Or were his eyes on the beauty beside her? Was he afraid to break her delicate body?

The dark haired girl looks over herself subtly. She's not delicate. She's not fragile. She's not a beautiful blonde girl to be held like a treasure.

She's kind of thick, she thinks, kind of heavyset. She doesn't have blue eyes to match his, or a figure to complement his form.

She's too close.

She runs.

* * *

It's raining, and he's running. Running far, far away, she thinks. And it's all because of that stupid blonde boy.

She doesn't want him to go far, far away. It's not just because she won't be able to watch him at all, but because when he moves farther from her, it sort of hurts. It wasn't supposed to turn out like this. She wasn't supposed to hurt at his pain.

But she does.

Maybe if she gets a little closer, he'll come back.

But not too close! Close is a terrible, terrible, horrible, horrible mistake.

Just a little closer… she stops. It's fine here. He'll be fine, now. He'll come back, now. She watches and waits expectantly.

It's not enough.

She moves closer still… closer… closer…

Closer…

* * *

She doesn't know how it happens, but she remembers crying out to him, crying for him to listen.

She remembers him turning to her, facing her, eyes dark, shoulders slumped.

And suddenly her arms are around him, and his head is buried into the crook of her neck, his hands shaking against her back as he tries to hold on to slippery fabric. He's crying into her shoulder, and she listens to him with eyes closed, tears running silently down her face.

It's like a revelation born of tears and rain, she thinks contently, her heart seeming to blossom with warmth in her chest. It's where she belongs.

* * *

Tears and rain obscure vision, she decides later, the warmth in her chest freezing with frightening speed. The picture before her of the perfect couple replays over and over again. What was he thinking when that beauty put her head on his shoulder? Did he like it?

Had he forgotten what she'd done for him?

She's completely terrified, completely too broken to keep watching him. She runs.

* * *

They're saved. They're all saved, but she has no idea what to do about her heart and the warmth she misses. Every time she looks at him, it's kind of there, kind of not. A tiny little heat that's not enough to make her blush, but enough to make her long for something unexplainable, unnamable.

Every time she looks away, it disappears.

She looks away.

* * *

She drops her tape into his hands, knowing every secret inside of it, bidding it farewell. They're gone now, her secrets. Gone to live in the sand. Maybe someone else will watch them. Maybe a girl with a warm heart. Maybe a boy with an unreadable expression.

Maybe a blonde beauty who's good at pretending to be shallow.

* * *

She misses the warmth.

She gazes out the window, her eyes closed, a thousand images in her head. She'll watch him constantly, consistently- maybe even forever- no matter what the ending is, no matter what happens.

She'll just watch from afar.

It's because close is a terrible, terrible, horrible, horrible thing that can make you warm or make you cold in a fraction of a heartbeat.

But that's kind of okay with her as long as she holds on to a thousand images of blue eyes, to memories of tears and rain, to knowing where she belongs.

It's alright as long as she holds on to her heart.

* * *

**AN: Review?**


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